


Of Kittens and Men

by yallaintright



Series: Bookshop AU [3]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Fluff, Kittens, M/M, but here we are, courfeyrac probably shouldn't be allowed to name things, no kittens were harmed in the making of this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-21
Updated: 2013-08-21
Packaged: 2017-12-24 06:03:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/936264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yallaintright/pseuds/yallaintright
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh, hello,” Combeferre says with a soft smile when Courfeyrac walks through the door, dripping water all over the floor. </p><p>“Um,” Courfeyrac says, taking in how gorgeous he looks in a plaid shirt and the absence of a bow tie this time. He bites his check and forces himself to make word sounds. “Would you believe me if I told you I had to reschedule our date because of family issues?” </p><p>“That depends,” Combeferre says dryly. “By family issues, do you by any chance mean that you have developed breasts overnight?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Kittens and Men

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution for Courferre week on Tumblr. 
> 
> For [Nat](http://zimriya.tumblr.com) because she asked for more and I am hopeless to resist.
> 
> Betaed by the lovely [Kate](http://katefeyrac.tumblr.com).

“So,” Enjolras says slowly, leaning against the doorframe leading to Courfeyrac’s bedroom and eyeing the messy pile of clothes on the bed with distaste. “How _did_ you get him to go out with you? I mean, it can’t have been the recommendation letters. Did you bribe him, maybe?”

“ _Excuse_ you,” Courfeyrac says scathingly, staring helplessly at his almost empty closet.  It’s the greatest fucking tragedy of his entire life - he finally has his date with Combeferre but he has no idea what to wear.“I am charming.”

“Whoever told you that is a filthy liar,” Enjolras says, gritting his teeth.

“Don’t insult your boyfriend, dear,” Courfeyrac says, only half-paying attention to the words coming out of his own mouth. If he doesn’t figure out what to wear soon, he’s going to have to ask to borrow some of Enjolras’ clothes and Courfeyrac cannot live in a world where he has to borrow Enjolras’ clothes, he just _can’t_.

“I thought we both agreed that you weren’t going to talk about my boyfriend for a while?” Enjolras snaps.

Courfeyrac should shut up. Courfeyrac really, really should shut up but he’s miserable and he’s tired and he has absolutely no clothes to wear and if he’s going to suffer, he’s going to make Enjolras suffer right along with him. Besides, if Enjolras kills him he won’t have to live in a world where he has absolutely _no clothes_.

“I don’t know what you’re angrier about,” he says instead of shutting up, stroking his chin. “The fact that I once slept with your boyfriend or the fact that I give better head than you.”

“I -” Enjolras begins, but strong, tanned arms wrap themselves around his waist from behind and he lets out a sigh of contentment the moment Grantaire’s chin comes to rest on his shoulder.

“You do not give better head than Enjolras,” Grantaire happily informs Courfeyrac. He ducks his head to kiss Enjolras’ neck and adds, for Enjolras’s benefit, “And you are not going to kill him just because he forgot to delete the damned tape.”

“But - “ Enjolras says.

“No killing,” Grantaire repeats.

Courfeyrac takes in how pathetically domestic they are, takes one good look at his bed and dives dramatically headfirst into the pile of clothes.

“Are you alright?” Grantaire asks.

“I can’t even find pants,” Courfeyrac says sadly. “How am I supposed to find love?”

“Yes, finding pants must really be complicated for you,” Enjolras says sarcastically. “I mean, how can you possibly choose between the unbearably tight black pants _or_ the unbearably tight black pants?”

“You understand my problem at last,” Courfeyrac says, seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.

“Your best friend is an idiot,” Grantaire tells Enjolras, and Courfeyrac props himself up on one elbow to throw an extra pair of unbearably tight black pants at his head.

“Funnily enough, I had noticed that, yes.” There’s a pause, and then Enjolras lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Look, if you have to try this hard for this guy to like you then maybe he isn’t worth your time?”

“Oh, but he is!” Courfeyrac says excitedly, sitting up on the bed. “He’s pretty and he’s smart and he’s _funny_ and I want to impress him, only I have no idea what to wear. Help?”

“Go with the unbearably tight black pants?” Enjolras suggests and Courfeyrac makes a mental note to kill him in his sleep.

“Oh, I like that,” Grantaire agrees, because he is a dirty traitor. “And also, wear a blue shirt. That ought to bring out your eyes.”

“My eyes are brown,” Courfeyrac says, an edge of hysteria to his voice. “Will you two stop torturing me and _help_?”

Grantaire rolls his eyes, but dutifully disentangles himself from Enjolras and crosses the room in two long strides, picking a blue button-down shirt and an unbearably tight pair of black pants from the pile of clothes on the bed and throwing them at Courfeyrac’s head.

“Wear this,” he says. “And be home before midnight, young man. And also wear nice underwear. I like black and tight - it’s both classic and sexy, but knowing youI’ll be happy as long as it isn’t something pink and glittery.”

“I could kiss you right now,” Courfeyrac says happily.

“I could throw you out of the window right now,” Enjolras says, just as happily.

“Jealousy isn’t attractive, Enjolras,” Courfeyrac points out. He starts to slither out of his pants, notices the bright pink boxer briefs he had been wearing and turns towards Grantaire with an unhappy frown on his face. “And what the fuck is wrong with my underwear?”

“You can’t unleash the glitter on a first date,” Grantaire says patiently. “That’s a third date kind of thing, Courfeyrac.”

“Glitter is an every date kind of thing,” Courfeyrac says primly, trying to keep the hurt out of his voice because, _really_ , what does Grantaire have against glitter? It’s like hating puppies and rainbows. “Also, I need to borrow books.”

“I know you said the guy likes books, but you can’t actually spend the entire date reading a book instead of talking to him, Courfeyrac,” Grantaire says patiently.

Which, wow. Why must _everyone_ always question his wooing techniques? He really wants to point out that he knows perfectly well just how to behave on dates and how to woo people and Grantaire, as someone who’s been on the receiving end of his wooing techniques _really_ ought to know that but Enjolras is still looking serial-killery around the eyes and it’s probably not worth it. Plus, whatever he does to Courfeyrac may actually mess up The Hair and Courfeyrac is not up for that.

“I don’t need books for the date,” he says slowly. “I need books for _after_ the date.”

“Are you going to try to get him to reenact your favorite ‘50 Shades of Grey’ scenes?” Enjolras asks, sounding horrified. “Please, _please_ , don’t do that.”

“Now, _that_ definitely isn’t a first date sort of thing,” Courfeyrac says. “It’s just - do you know the first rule of owning a bookshop?”

“You don’t talk about owning a bookshop?” Grantaire asks, like the insufferable asshole he is and Courfeyrac is so, _so_ very sorry he once rewarded the assholery with a blowjob and an orgasm. He wants to say he doesn’t know how Enjolras does it, but considering Enjolras’ own assholery they’re probably made for each other.

“Ahah,” Courfeyrac says dryly. “Fuck you. The first rule of owning a bookshop is that if you go home with someone and they don’t have books, you don’t fuck them. _And I have no books_. Do you see how big of a problem this is?”

“Why am I friends with you again?” Enjolras asks in disbelief.

Grantaire actually has the nerve to scoff at him.“You have an _e-reader_.”

“Which was the most terrible, stupid decision I have ever made,” Courfeyrac says miserably.

“Deciding to become your roommate was the most terrible, stupid decision _I_ have ever made,” Enjolras snaps, narrowing his eyes at Courfeyrac. Courfeyrac blows out a kiss just to annoy him, which Enjolras ignores. “However, because I like you, I have no intentions of being home tonight. So you can do whatever disgusting thing you want with him, as long as you stay out of my bedroom.”

“Fair enough,” Courfeyrac agrees, because having the apartment all to himself without Enjolras and Grantaire around to make things awkward and share embarrassing drunk stories is a great idea.

“Now,” Enjolras says, in his ‘I am a strong independent revolutionary who don’t need no government’ voice that Courfeyrac can’t help but obey. “You’re going to put on the clothes that Grantaire picked out, then you’re going to go out for your date and have a great time and you are not going to freak out about any of those things. Do you understand?”

“But - “ Courfeyrac starts.

“Did I fucking stutter?” Enjolras hisses.

“No, but - “ Courfeyrac tries to say.

“Shut up,” Enjolras says pleasantly. “Come along Grantaire, we’re going to have fabulous sex in your apartment.”

Grantaire considers this. “I can live with that, yeah.” He strides towards Enjolras, pulling him along by the hand, but turns back to look at Courfeyrac one last time. “Do take your leather jacket and an umbrella with you, though - it’s fucking pouring out there.”

“Yes, mother,” Courfeyrac says obediently to Enjolras and Grantaire’s retreating backs.

\---

When he steps out of his apartment, he’s never been happier to have taken Grantaire’s advice. The sky is a never-ending mass of gloomy dark, clouds, heavy rain is pouring down and bouncing off the pavement and Courfeyrac can hear the distant sound of thunder.

Making his way to Combeferre’s bookshop proves complicated, as the sidewalk is a never-ending puddle of water and cars keep racing by too quickly, disturbing the fast-growing pools of water on the road and sending cold, icy sheets of water straight at Courfeyrac.

It’s just as well that Courfeyrac is the opposite of concerned about it. Oh, he knows objectively that he should be upset about this, that he’s going to be cold and wet the rest of the day, but he’s going to be seeing Combeferre very soon, and there’s going to be wine and dinner and intelligent conversation and he’s too excited to properly care about things like pneumonia, even though he does spare a moment to worry about the state his hair will be in when he does arrive at his destination.

He’s vaguely considering ducking into the coffeehouse closest to Combeferre’s bookshop so he can fix it when the sound of tiny, terrified meowing stops him dead in his tracks.

He looks curiously around the street until his eyes finally fasten on a small, completely soaked-through, brown cardboard box, half-hidden under a stack of abandoned newspapers. He approaches it apprehensively and when he crouches down to open it, three shivering kittens stare miserably up at him. They are tiny balls of grey fur and would probably be adorable if they weren’t soaked wet and trembling horribly. When he reaches out a hand to touch one of the kittens, it whimpers, sounding petrified, but doesn’t move out of the way. Its fur is very wet and very, _very_ cold.

“Oh, fuck,” Courfeyrac whispers, because cold kittens are _never_ a good sign. Later he will get completely livid about this. He will rant to Enjolras and Grantaire and to anyone who will listen about how inhuman it is to leave kittens to die in the middle of a thunderstorm and how he doesn’t understand how anyone could even bear to do it. But that’s later, once he’s dealt with the problem at hand, because right now all he can focus on is the broken whimpering coming from the litter.

“Right,” he tells the kittens, unzipping his jacket, unbuttoning the first three buttons on his shirt and very carefully moving the freezing kittens one by one from inside the cold litter to his warm chest. He can’t help a hiss from escaping his lips when cold paws come in contact with his skin, but resolutely grits his teeth and buttons his shirt back up.

He keeps one arm around his chest to make sure the kittens stay in place and grips his umbrella tightly with the other hand. He briefly considers what to do. There are freezing kittens against his skin. There is Combeferre waiting for a date less than five minutes away from him. Courfeyrac _really_ doesn’t want to cancel but he knows that he does have a strong parental instinct and he can’t go out and leave potentially dying kittens alone in his apartment - and, when it comes right down to it, if Combeferre is the kind of guy who doesn’t want to reschedule a date just so Courfeyrac can save an adorable trio of kittens, then maybe Courfeyrac doesn’t want him in his life.

“Okay,” he tells his mewling chest. “We’re just going to take a quick trip to see a friend and then we’re going to go home and cuddle up with each other on my bed and watch Love Actually. Okay?”

None of the kittens bother with an answer, but Courfeyrac can feel tiny claws scratching against his chest and he decides to take in as a yes, quickly making his way to the bookshop.

“Oh, hello,” Combeferre says with a soft smile when Courfeyrac walks through the door, dripping water all over the floor.

“Um,” Courfeyrac says, taking in how gorgeous he looks in a plaid shirt and the absence of bow tie this time. He bites his check and forces himself to make word sounds. “Would you believe me if I told you I had to reschedule our date because of family issues?”

“That depends,” Combeferre says dryly. “By family issues, do you by any chance mean that you have developed breasts overnight?”

“Oi,” Courfeyrac says defensively. “Some girls reach puberty later than others.”

“Yes,” Combeferre says. “I can understand how it’d take you longer than most girls to grow breasts. Seeing as you apparently grew three of them. And also I can hear your chest purring from here.”

“Oh, fine,” Courfeyrac says in defeat. “I found a litter of abandoned kittens on the street. I’m going to take them home and warm them up as best as I can before I decide what to do with them.”

Combeferre’s expression turns impossibly soft and he smiles tentatively at Courfeyrac. “I live upstairs,” he says quietly. “You can try to warm them up here, if you’d like.”

“You’re not mad about our date?” Courfeyrac asks.

“What, and leave the kittens to die?” Combeferre asks, horrified. “I could never do _that_.”

“Combeferre, you are a God amongst men,” Courfeyrac says gratefully. Combeferre rolls his eyes, but keeps a fond smile on his face while he locks the door behind him and ushers Courfeyrac into the backroom and up a flight of stairs leading up to his apartment. He takes Courfeyrac’s hand and Courfeyrac’s heart thunders in his chest as Combeferre drags him through a corridor and into a living room with a comfortable-looking green couch and unstable-looking piles of books obscuring the white walls almost completely.

Combeferre motions for him to sit down and Courfeyrac does, unbuttoning his shirt and throwing it off to the side. He runs his hands over the kittens’ fur, which are thankfully slightly warmer. 

Combeferre gasps. “What are you doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing?” Courfeyrac asks with a frown. “I’m warming up the kittens with my body heat. Get me a blanket, will you?”

“But I have a - “ Combeferre starts.

“Please?” Courfeyrac begs, giving him the puppy-eyes that not even Enjolras is heartless enough to resist.

Combeferre snorts, pointing to the blanket at the end of the couch.

“I _really_ like you,” Courfeyrac says. He lies down on the couch, taking down the entire length of it and carefully moves the kittens to his warm belly, cautiously covering them with the warm blanket. “Should we feed them, do you think?”

“Not until we get their body temperature back up,”  Combeferre says softly, so as not to disturb the sleeping kittens on Courfeyrac’s stomach. “I think I have some powdered kitten milk for when you get them warm again.”

“I really don’t know what I’d do without you,” Courfeyrac sighs. “I mean, if I took them home I’m quite sure Enjolras would actually think it’d be a good idea to put them in the drying machine or something.”

“What?” Combeferre gasps, in an adorably high-pitched voice that makes Courfeyrac really want to kiss him. “Your friend would try to put _cats_ in  _a drying machine_?”

“Yes,” Courfeyrac says with a shudder. “The terrible thing is that he actually means well. Like, he’d actually think this would be a good idea to get them dry and warm.”

“Oh god,” Combeferre whimpers. “I worry about your friends sometimes.”

Courfeyrac shrugs. “Grantaire’s good for him. Most of the time, at least. And they’re not allowed to have pets. Or plants. But you have nothing to worry about - I have this feeling you two will meet and decide to become platonic life husbands then and there. You have that ‘Enjolras approves’ look about you.”

“I promise not to become your friend’s platonic life husband,” Combeferre says patiently.

“Thank you,” Courfeyrac whispers softly. He notices Combeferre is standing up awkwardly staring at the couch and realizes he is taking up all furniture  in the room specifically designed for sitting. “Um, do you want to sit down?”

“I don’t want to disturb the kittens,” Combeferre says calmly.

“Oh nonsense,” Courfeyrac replies, propping himself up on one elbow. “Come on now, I could use a pillow. And your lap looks very pillowy. And you can pet my hair if you’d like. I’ve been told it’s very pettable, you know?”

“I’m sure you have,” Combeferre grins, sitting down on the cushion previously occupied by Courfeyrac’s head and Courfeyrac leans back down to rest his head on Combeferre’s leg.

“You’re not petting my hair,” he accuses.

Combeferre lets out a long-suffering sigh that Courfeyrac has associated as usually coming from people who are around him for prolonged periods of time, but starts playing with Courfeyrac’s curls all the same. Courfeyrac feels very warm and very happy.

“So, what do you think we should call our kittens?” He asks to break the silence.

“ _Our_ kittens?” Combeferre echoes, his eyebrows disappearing into his hairline.

“Well, I’m not becoming a single parent,” Courfeyrac says scathingly. “Look at what happened to Voldemort.”

“Yes,” Combeferre agrees. “We definitely do not want our kittens to become the next Dark Lords.” He pauses to frown at Courfeyrac. “You know, this is a really terrible metaphor -”

“ _Shhh_ ,” Courfeyrac shushes. “We’re talking cat names now.”

“I suppose you’ve decided what to call them already?” Combeferre asks, running his fingernails over Courfeyrac’s scalp and Courfeyrac has to try very, very hard not to purr.

“Well, first I considered Bubbles, Blossom and Buttercup - “ Courfeyrac begins.

“Of course,” Combeferre interrupts. “Why wouldn’t you name our kittens after the Powerpuff Girls?”

“Exactly!” Courfeyrac says happily. “But then I realized I didn’t know if they were boy kittens or girl kittens and, anyway, they all look like indistinguishable little balls of grey fur so we’d get them confused all the time and there’d be no point.”

“That makes sense,” Combeferre says but from his face it’s clear he thinks it doesn’t make any sense at all.  “So you then decided to settle on…?”

“Elvendork!” He grins. “It’s unisex!”

Combeferre a chuckle and bites his lip before saying, in a helpless tone of voice, “You are _such_ an idiot.”

“Yes, I’m very - wait.” Courfeyrac’s words catch in his throat as he notices the fat, grown orange cat currently staring unblinkingly up at him from a corner of the room. “Anything you forgot to tell me?”

“That’s Hermione,” Combeferre says apologetically.

“Hermione is a _cat_ ,” Courfeyrac points out.

“Yes,” Combeferre smiles ruefully down at him, tucking a strand of hair behind Courfeyrac’s ear. “I was going to say we could _maybe_ pet her into warming up your kittens but then you took off your shirt and it started seeming like a bad idea.”

“Aw,” Courfeyrac gushes. “You’re objectifying me. That is adorable.”

Combeferre flushes –  also adorably – and there’s no other way, Courfeyrac is going to have to kiss him. “Lean down, will you?” Courfeyrac asks. “I have to kiss you right now and I don’t want to disturb the kittens.”

Combeferre does so immediately, leaning down and covering Courfeyrac’s lips with his own. It’s sweet and loving, only a mere brush of lips but Courfeyrac feels warmth crawling through his chest and coiling in his stomach.

He reaches a hand to hold the back of Combeferre’s head, burying his hands in soft hair so he can deepen the kiss. It’s lovely and oh so perfect and when Combeferre’s cat hops onto the couch to meet the kittens currently on top of Courfeyrac and Combeferre pulls back, Courfeyrac doesn’t resist licking his lips to memorize the lingering taste of coffee left by Combeferre’s kiss.

“I think your cat likes me,” he says, smiling against Combeferre’s lips when he feels Hermione’s paws on his stomach.

“I think _I_ like you,” Combeferre confesses, fingers still buried in Courfeyrac’s hair.

“Good,” Courfeyrac whispers. “Now kiss me again.”

Combeferre looks all too happy to oblige him.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://coolfeyrad.tumblr.com)!


End file.
